The sun hung low in the sky, sending
twilight across the Power household. The suburban home stood bright with fresh
cream paint, behind a lawn they paid someone else to manicure. The richest on a
rich street, it looked suited to a family far better established than the young
trio who had just bought it.
Wealthy, but normal. Mundane, even. If Heisenberg
hadn't already known what brought him here, he wouldn’t have thought to look
for it.
The stranger appeared in the breath between
instants. Tall and thin, he looked like a bespectacled scarecrow in his blue
suit. He'd been sure of the blue; he'd come off enough like a Man in Black
without dressing like one. He closed his eyes and checked the time. Yes; they
would be home. He rapped on the door.
"One moment," said Tahirah Power.
She opened the door, a friendly smile already in place, reaching her dark eyes.
She was a young woman, with beautifully smooth, clay-coloured skin. Even with a
small child, her curly black hair and sundress were immaculate. "Are you
from the real estate company? We noticed the lock was broken when we were
moving in…" She noticed Heisenberg's suit, and more than that, his eyes.
"You're not here about the fence, are you?"
Perceptive. He smiled. "My name is
Heisenberg," he said, "And I'm just here to talk."
She hesitated. "Arthur, honey? We have
a visitor."
They drank tea together in the living room.
Arthur Power was built broader than his wife, with a naturally ruddy face
behind his full beard. Their three-year-old son sat in the room with them,
quietly playing with blocks.
Arthur looked at him with more suspicion,
while Tahirah watched quietly, deferring to her husband. The television and the
clatter of the boy's play served as background noise. The boy took more after
Tahirah than Arthur, with that caramel-toned skin and his soft jaw. But the
eyes were something different. The left was golden, while the right was a
clear, silvery grey.
Heisenberg broke the silence. "Your
son is a very special boy."
Arthur folded his arms over his chest.
"Flattery won't get you as far as you'd think. What is your point?"
Talking directly just felt wrong. Too many years
of careful, indirect habit. "You've heard of talents, I presume."
"You mean those people like DN Alpha
and One-Man Army?" Arthur asked. "The crime-fighting, the glowing
eyes and flashy costumes, the incredible strength?"
Heisenberg's lips tightened.
"Something like that, yes." Pedantry wouldn't win him any favours.
"Of course," Arthur said.
"They're on the news all the time. Barry Ellis says they're the next step
in human evolution."
Heisenberg grimaced. "Barry Ellis is
an idiot who shouldn't be on the air." Okay, maybe he could get away with
a little pedantry. "Talents have nothing to do with genes, mutated or
otherwise. Nothing to do with toxic waste or science experiments leaking into
the drinking water. Certainly nothing to do with extraterrestrial
abductions." That hit all the main public theories. The ones that were
completely wrong, anyway.
"And I suppose you're an expert on
it," Arthur said, his tone dry like sandpaper.
"Yes," Heisenberg said. "We
very much are."
His bluntness sent Arthur for a loop.
Tahirah brushed past the first obvious question, and asked, "So you think
Maximus is one of those talents?" With her voice so level, no way did it
come as a surprise.
"Not yet," Heisenberg said.
"His power hasn't manifested. But you've already seen it in his eyes,
haven't you? So much more like your sister's eyes."
"We don't talk," Tahirah said. It
was more a statement of will than fact. "What exactly are you saying about
our son?"
"Maximus has potential,"
Heisenberg said. "More potential than I've ever seen. He'll awaken to it
sooner or later. With the right support, he could be the best of us."
Arthur moved closer to the edge of his
seat, angled to slightly block Heisenberg from his family. "And just who
is 'us'? Who do you work for?"
"I work with the Fellowship of Realmwalkers." He set his cup down,
saucer and all, atop the table. "We are a community, centred on shared
talents, and how they can and should be used. We have a certain perspective on
Space and Fate. As well as learn to use them, we work to protect them. To keep
this world safe from the dangers of other realms, and vice versa. To guard time
from those who would try to bend it to their own whims."
"Realmwalkers," Arthur repeated.
"And you thought aliens sounded far-fetched."
Of course. He'd have been disappointed if
they hadn't expected some proof. This would be simple enough, a parlour trick.
He focused on his teacup.
Heisenberg's own specialty was Fate; in
particular, the branching of time. Every day, a thousand little decisions
changed the face of the world. He could make any number of decisions just about
that teacup. He could pull it left; could push it right; could just leave it
alone. And it would remain uncertain until he made the decision -- or, with his
talent, for some time afterwards.
He did all three. He kept his hand steady,
while other versions of him moved it both ways, before he let those branches
join into one. The Powers gasped; from their perspective, he and a flash of
yellow light suddenly made two more cups appear out of nowhere, each just as
full as the first. So much more interesting a power than mere 'incredible
strength'.
That was enough to get them whispering
between each other. Heisenberg waited and sipped his tea. At least, until they
yanked that cup from his hand. He gave them a miffed look while they compared,
and eventually relented. Every detail was right: the slight chip on the handle,
the stain on the bottom. Heisenberg hadn't even noticed them. Those cups, and
Heisenberg, were the real thing.
The Powers returned to their seats, and
gave Heisenberg back his tea. "Fine," Arthur said. "But you
didn't come just to flatter us. What are you here for?"
"Maximus could be the greatest
Realmwalker of all time and beyond," Heisenberg said. "So yes, I have
an interest in his development. I could tell you want to expect as his talent
manifests, how to prepare him and yourselves, and I could return when he's come
of age. Or…"
Tahirah drew Maximus into her lap, hugging
him as if to shield him. "Or what?"
"I could take him with me."
Heisenberg continued, even with how it made Tahirah flinch. "The
Fellowship is, if anything, wealthier than yourselves. We know how to work a
stock market. In our care, Maximus would never want for anything. But more than
that, he could be raised among people like him. Titans like Einstein and Rosen,
who know these talents better than anyone." The sheer potential made him
giddy. "He could know his talent almost from birth. Most don't even
manifest one until their teens or twenties, if they ever do. Do you realise who
he could become?"
At some point, he'd stood up. Tahirah had
shrunk back from him, while Arthur had moved forward, guarding the others. Perhaps
he'd got a bit carried away.
But after a moment passed for it to sink
in, Tahirah tugged her husband's sleeve. They whispered to each other, and with
a confused-looking Maximus as well. They were uncertain. Heisenberg could
practically see the fence underneath them. If he picked his words carefully, he
could guide the conversation either way. Take the boy, or leave him with them.
Heisenberg set down his tea, and made his
choice.
Twelve years later, Maximus Power awoke in
bed. The blankets weighed him down, trapping him with his own heat. Air
conditioning kept the rest of the room low, the better to make a cosy morning.
He rolled over and over to the bed's edge
and snagged his phone. A little past ten in the morning. Early for a Sunday.
He'd been waking up earlier lately. Waking up didn't mean getting up, though. He took his time with that, scrolling through
his phone.
Aurelia had been posting about a new
villain a few cities away, and decrying that Northbeach only had the Grimaldi
mafia. So boring, she said. Norm and Georgia had invited him out to see a new
Western that afternoon; Janey and Mandie were putting a group together for
lunch at a new Chinese place. Eh, he'd decide later.
Especially since he heard his mother's
voice call from downstairs. "Max, breakfast is ready! And you have a
visitor!"
Mom breakfast? As if he'd miss that. Max
threw on a t-shirt and jeans and headed down.
The dining room was meant for entertaining.
Abstract paintings added decoration to the cream walls. The rich, maroon carpet
went well with the round, mahogany table, much bigger than the three of them
needed. The usual spread across the table: sausage, bacon, eggs, toast,
everything. But Max was more interested in the tasty dish who'd come to visit.
April Greene had been his babysitter years
before, and she'd only got hotter since she'd hit university age. Blonde hair,
like a waterfall of molten gold, fell to her waist. Bangs framed a
girl-next-door kind of pretty face, with sky-blue eyes, lightly tanned skin,
and a sweet smile.
Though her face could slow traffic, her
body could cause a major pile-up. Almost six feet tall, and her slim legs took
up more than their share. Heavy, proud tits matched the womanly breadth of her
hips, with a wasp-thin waist and washboard-flat belly between. She'd packed it
into a tight blue belly-top and short, pleated skirt, with white socks climbing
to her thighs.
Max managed not to drool, nor openly stare.
Thank God for peripheral vision. "April," he said as he took a seat
and his plate. "This is a pleasant surprise."
She gave him a side-on hug, arm loose on
his shoulders. "Between semesters now. And while I'm here for the
holidays, wanted to at least come visit."
"Aw, you get holidays already?"
He devoured his breakfast between sentences. Growth and baseball built an
appetite. "I've still got weeks yet."
"Oh, well then." She tousled his
hair, grinning. "I thought we'd catch up, but if it'd distract from your
studies, maybe I should go." Her voice took a light, teasing lilt.
He grimaced and fixed his hair, but grinned
at her. "Not on your life, April." He thought about the invites, but
he could hang out with his peers anytime. "Yeah, let's catch up. I need to
hit the mall anyway, so, head there for the afternoon?" He'd already
cleared his plate. He kissed his mother's cheek. "Mom, we're going out for
a while."
They stopped for lunch at a noodle joint, a
rustic place with small, tight tables and fake paper lanterns. Max was glad to
take a seat; both April's bags and his own were weighing him down. More the
latter than the former, he admitted. New games, new albums, new clothes, a new
bat. The credit card could handle it, but the weight added up.
April still carried her own handbag, and had
only got some new clothes, darker than her usual style. Was she going into a
goth phase? He wouldn't mind seeing that.
He stirred his tea while he talked.
"Yeah, Aurelia and I are still topping our classes. Though, not like any
of the tests have been hard this
year." He took a sip. "So how about you? What's your major,
again?"
"Pre-med," April said.
"You'd be shocked how many classmates try the 'anatomy homework' line on
me."
He coughed. "Lot of guys trying to get
you naked?"
"And girls," she said. And
grinned at the flush it put on his cheeks. "Aah, you're growing up. But,
to be serious. It's good. Grades could be better, but it's got me thinking
about curative and preventative, you know?"
He gave her a quizzical look. "Don't
think I do know. What do you mean?" He ignored a commotion behind him,
keeping his attention on April.
April looked past his shoulder, towards the
counter. She sighed. "I mean stuff like that," she said.
Max looked over. The owner, a little old
Japanese man in green, was arguing with two men. Both had slicked-back hair,
pinstriped suits, and though they were inside, dark glasses.
"Grimaldi," Max said, his voice
hushed. "Those guys are from the Grimaldi mafia, aren't they?" Not
just talents, but bad guys, right
there. Still, if they just minded their own business, they'd be fine, right?
"Yeah," April said, flatly.
"Shaking him up for protection money, looks like. They'll throw some
weight around. If he's lucky, it'll just be some bruises. Any doctor could
treat him, but it'll just keep happening. That's what I mean.
Preventative."
Max shook his head. "Isn't that what
talents are for?"
"Talents aren't the only heroes, you
know." She stood up. "I need to hit the bath-- watch out!"
Max first noticed April's incredible chest
shoved into his face. Then he realised she'd tackled him to the ground. A table
smashed through where they'd just been.
"Dammit," April whispered,
digging through her handbag. "No time. Don't tell anyone, okay?" She took out a black, pointed hat. As she put
it on, she said, "Night, fall."
Bronze light rushed from the hat and
crawled over her whole body. In its wake, she changed. Blonde hair turned
midnight black; tanned skin paled to moonlight. Her outfit changed into a tiny,
tight black dress with flattering patches of mesh, paired with long black boots
and gloves. Even her makeup changed, with her soft lips painted black, and
heavy eyeliner behind her domino mask. Put together with the array of bottles
and wands on her belt, it looked like a Halloween 'sexy witch' costume.
He knew that look. He'd seen her on the
news, on the net, but he'd never imagined he'd already seen her in person.
The superheroine Lady Noctis pushed him
down by his shoulder. "Stay down," she said. "Time to do some
preventing."
Max stayed behind their upturned table to
watch. Lady Noctis vaulted over with a shout. As one Grimaldi turned, her
wand's blast of blue force sent him flying. A chair rose from the ground to
intercept the next. It shattered into wooden splinters, and flung itself at
Lady Noctis.
She dived, but still cursed at a glancing
blow that grazed her shoulder. She stayed behind another table, firing her wand
blind. It kept the psychokinetic back, but no more. The stalemate lasted what
felt like forever, but couldn't have been more than a minute. Max's head
throbbed, a headache building behind his left eye.
Then he heard a cry of pain. The other
Grimaldi had got hold of Lady Noctis, gripping her by the hair and wrist. His
glasses smashed, Max could see his blood-shot, brown eyes. "You little
bitch." Brown faded to glowing blue, and Noctis gasped with pain as her
wrist sizzled. Her wand fell from her hand. "Pretty far from home, aren't
you, Noctis? Let me show you how things work in Northbeach."
Two on one just wasn't fair. Dammit, where
were Adonis or Valkyrie when you needed them? Max's left eye felt like it was
on fire. The scene before him seemed to slow to a stop. Why wasn't anything
happening? What were they waiting for?
Wait. Time hadn't seemed to stop. Max looked around himself at the frozen scene. Time
had stopped.
Well. It didn't have to be two on one after
all.
Lady Noctis pushed through the haze of heat
and pain. She was without her wand, but she lined up her stiletto heel, ready
to stomp.
She didn't need to. Something blew past
her, knocking the goon off. She recovered her feet first. Even with her wrist
screaming at her, she grabbed her ice wand and gave the pyro a good, thick
layer. That'd keep him on the ground. That dealt with, she looked up to see
who'd helped her.
Her heart stopped when she saw him. Maximus
Power, that little boy she'd used to look after on weekends. He'd grown --
still not very tall, but with the muscle of someone who knew his way around a
sport. He wore his black hair thick but short, out of his way. And in that
moment, he stood with that new bat in his hand, and a blazing, yellow light
streaming from his left eye.
"Fuck's sake, two of them?" said
the remaining Grimaldi. A few chairs rattled, then flung themselves forward.
Max moved as a blur. A golden trail hung in
the air as he weaved, unscathed, between the tables, and finished off with his
bat crossing the man's stomach. At those speeds, she was surprised the bat
didn't break. It still dazed the criminal long enough for her to turn him
facing the wall, and lock him down with a layer of ice.
The sting in her wrist was catching up with
her. "Call the police," she told the owner. Even with the burning
pain, she spared a moment to share a smile with him.
In the commotion, she slid into the
bathroom. One of her healing salves fixed up the scratch on her shoulder, and
that damn handprint burn on her wrist. Once she'd got rid of those identifying
injuries, she pulled off her hat with a murmur of, "Sun, rise."
The reverse transformation washed over her
like a cold tickle, leaving her shivering as she slid the hat back into her
bag. April took Max's wrist as she walked past him. "Come on. We're
heading home."
They went back home and upstairs. Max's
headache had eased, but his mind still reeled with the revelation. He was
talented, superhuman. On par with people like Dynamo Dame.
It took a while for him to realise the
situation. He had April alone in his room with him. It sunk in when he saw her
there, sitting on the edge of his bed, and his heart jumped into his throat.
In contrast, she looked perfectly relaxed.
"Judging by your stunned, silent pacing, I guess that was the first time
your talent manifested?"
Yeah. He had no other reason for stunned
silence. He sat down beside her, painfully aware of how near she was. "I
had no idea about this until it happened. Was it like that for you, when you
first got your talent?"
"I don't have one," she said. She
turned to face him. Her chest jutted so far forward, he could almost feel it brushing him.
He resisted the urge to lean closer, as he
stared into her face. "Come on. I saw
you throwing those guys around without touching them."
She gave him a smug grin, and hip-checked
him. Her skirt fluttered just a little, leaving her bare thigh brushing his
jeans. "Like I said, talents aren't the only heroes. I'm a magician,
studying under Mister Wizard himself."
"Never heard of him," he said.
Her grin turned into a pout. "Well. He
keeps out of the spotlight. But take it from me: he's cool."
He shook his head. "Look,
whatever." He had trouble keeping on-track even without discussing mystery
heroes. "You still know more about talents than me, right? Is it always
sudden like that?"
She shrugged. He couldn't help but notice
how it lifted the curve of her shoulders, and made her tight shirt strain the
little more. "It can be, if you're really under pressure. Usually, signs
lead up to it, depending on your element."
"Element?" he asked. His mouth
felt dry.
"Every talent is based on an element
or a blend." She took him by the chin. He touch sent a shiver down his
spine, even though it was just to angle his face. "Judging by how gold
your eye went, I'd say you're pure Time. Odd for it to be only one eye, though,
I'd have to ask Mister about that."
"Time," he mumbled, distracted.
His eyes wouldn't lift from April's glossy pink lips, but at least that was
better than staring at her body. When he had mind-power free, he thought back
to the noodle shop. "Yeah, that makes sense with what I can do."
She let go. The moment was gone, and she
hadn't even seemed to notice it. She must have known what she was doing to him,
right? "And what can you do? I barely even got a glimpse back there."
Before, his talent had come as a reflex.
Now, he worked it more purposefully. It was like some corner of his mind had
turned into a hand. That hand gripped on the world, squeezing until it came to
a halt. The silence felt strange. His body made literally the only sound in the
world. He couldn't even hear April breathing. He leaned side to side, watching
her face, and she just stared dead ahead. Frozen like a statue.
He went to the window. Birds hung
motionless in the air; the neighbour's dog was in the middle of a jump to catch
a suspended disc. It wasn't just April. Everything was frozen but him.
He let go of his talent, let time start to
flow again.
April jumped, just enough to put a bounce
in her chest. It took her a second of glancing to find him. "Oh, so you're
a teleporter?"
Huh. It must have looked like that to her.
She had no idea what happened while time was stopped, did she? "No."
He paused again, and resumed once he was seated next to her again. "I just
plain stop time."
She flinched back with surprise, scooting
across his bed. "Really?" she breathed. "That's cool. Power like that, you could be one
hell of a hero."
Hero. Superhero.
He rolled the word around in his mind, testing how it sounded. It had felt good
to blow through the Grimaldi thugs like that. He wasn't just any talent. He wasn't
just on par with people like the Grimaldi mafia or Dynamo Dame. He was well
above people like that. Who'd ever heard of a talent who could stop time?
"Yeah," he said. "I like the
sound of that."
She grinned. "It's addictive, isn't
it?" She scooted close to him again. God, she was so heat it was like he
could feel flames radiating off her. "You did great work today, Max.
Stopping those mafia goons. You should be proud."
He should, shouldn't he? He was a hero. A
hero deserved a reward, right? And, looking April up and down, he knew exactly
what kind of reward he wanted. He used his talent.
Max's heart pounded in his ears. That was
the only sound in the entire world; everything else had become still.
Especially April, sitting statuesque as she stared right where he sat. Or,
where he had been when he froze her. Her eyes didn't track him as he moved
closer.
Still, he felt a need to test. He waved his
hand in front of her eyes, watching her continue to stare. Holding his breath,
he touched her cheek.
He jumped and took his hand back. Her skin
felt so soft as it moulded under his fingertips, and her warmth seemed to shoot
up his arm, heating all the way to his elbow. With how she'd frozen, he'd
thought for sure she'd feel hard and cold like a marble statue. But, no, that
was no statue. That was April there,
and she'd have no idea of what he did.
Right? He had to be very sure of that. He
sat back, hand as casual as possible in his lap, and unpaused.
April startled and frowned at him.
"Man, that not-teleporting is going to take some getting used to."
She shook her head, a bemused smile spreading. She didn't even touch her cheek.
No idea at all.
So he paused again. Emboldened, he did
something he'd wanted to do since he was ten years old. He grabbed April's
breasts. The weighty things far overfilled his hands, forcing him to spread his
fingers wide to hold as much as possible. Her top strained to contain them,
creating a stretch of fabric across the middle of her chest. As he handled her
chest, he felt the silky cups of her bra underneath.
That wouldn't do. He wanted to touch her,
to see her, not her clothing. Hands shaking with excitement, he pulled her
shirt up, forcing the hem up by her throat. He barely glimpsed her bra -- some
low-cut, blue thing -- before he forced that up too. Somehow, April's body had
'time' even though April herself didn't. Her chest bounced free, and took its
natural, unsupported shape.
Her breasts were glorious to behold. Weighty and broad, a wonder above her thin
waist. Yet even at that size, they sat firm with youth; not quite round, but
with a natural, teardrop shape. Small, pink nipples capped them, the last piece
he'd never quite been able to imagine. He'd always thought those nipples would
be bigger, to suit her sheer endowment. He lost track of how long he spent
staring. But then, time was irrelevant, wasn't it? However long he spent there,
not even a second would pass.
He could take his, for lack of a better
word, time. The next time he touched her, it was gentler, a caress to explore
the sweet curve of her skin. He marvelled at how her skin dimpled under his
fingertips, yet sprang back into shape as his touch passed. Such smooth,
perfect texture, different only at the greater softness of her nipples. They
stayed soft, however much he rubbed them. That stood as a stark reminder of the
strange situation; he'd had enough girlfriends to know how she'd usually
respond to that kind of stimulation. She wasn't his girlfriend. In that frozen
moment, she was a toy for him to play with.
Such a wonderful toy. Those breasts
squished under his squeezing touch. He got rougher with her, squeezing until
her plush flesh bulged between his fingers. Sheer mass resisted his squeezing,
keeping him from sinking his fingertips any closer to her core.
Feeling her up was better than anything he
could have imagined, and he'd spent a lot of time trying. Every brush of her
skin, every squeeze, everything made his heart race. It pounded blood into his
hands, leaving them as hot as she was, so sensitive for those explorations.
More than that, it plumped his dick until it hurt. He wanted more.
Yes. April was more than a set of breasts,
and he was more than a pair of hands. Why should he stop at groping? He could
make all his wet dreams come true.
He kissed her, but it felt too strange. Her
lips just caved under his, with no return for his pressure. So he instead
kissed her neck, feeling the delicate hollow of her throat, tasting her
vanilla-scented body-wash. As he kissed her, he urged her backward, laying her
down along his bed. Habit had him put a pillow under her blonde head, even
though comfort and discomfort were meaningless.
Her skirt was next. He pushed it up, laying
the hem across her belly. It showed her tanned thighs, firm with muscle. The
blue silk of her panties fit tight around her groin, her hips filling them out.
It took some force for him to peel them down to her thighs.
Smooth. He'd always assumed her pussy would
be smooth, and he was right. Her thick, pink petals folded tightly over her
entrance, standing like the gates of heaven. And he was due for a visit. He
didn't wait for long enough to take her panties all the way off. He just got
them far enough to be out of his way when he pointed her legs skyward. Stopping
never even crossed his mind; his lust had the momentum of a runaway train.
He'd never gone this far before, but he
knew the theory. More than that, his body knew what it wanted. He shucked his
pants, finally freeing his hard, wanting cock. It felt magnetised, pointing
toward her like a divining rod.
Nature took its course. His hips pushed
forward, and her body enveloped him inch by inch. There was no describing the
bliss of her pussy squeezing him, wrapping him up in ways he'd never known. He
wanted to just slam into her, to feel her covering him. But he couldn't. Her
dry tightness resisted him, forcing him to take it slower. It felt like a full
minute before his hips pressed to her thighs. Frisson raced along his spine,
and a cry fell from his lips. He was in
April, and it was everything he'd ever imagined. She massaged his entire length
with each stroke, sending thrills of bliss beyond what any hand could provide.
He lasted maybe three strokes. Ecstasy
crashed over him like a wave, soaking him through. He drifted in the current
for... there was no way to tell how long. When he came up for air, she felt
less tight -- his spent manhood had shrunk within her.
Warm satisfaction glowed through him, along
with a tingle of buzzing excitement. He'd fucked April. Even with his body
sluggish with satisfaction, he wanted to bounce off the walls.
But he had something else to do first. He
sat April back up at the bed's edge. Though he hated to do it, he pulled her
clothes back into place. He almost forgot, but he got his own pants back on,
too.
When he was done, it was like nothing had
happened. He sat down next to her again, and finally unpaused.
April gasped, startled. Her hands clenched
into fists in her lap.
Max panicked. Had she noticed? "Are
you alright?" he asked.
As she caught her breath, a vivid flush warmed
over her cheeks. "It's nothing," she said. "Just felt strange
for a second there."
He breathed again. Even if she did feel
strange, she didn't suspect him. Good.
She shook herself, clearing her head.
"Anyway. I need to talk with the local Vigilants tomorrow anyway. I could
make some introductions, bring you into the team?"
The first people to know him as a hero
first, and everything else second. "I'll look forward to it," he
said. He'd have to work out a costume.
"Awesome. I need to make some
called." April stood, but hesitated near the door. "Do you have a
hero name in mind?" She looked hot, in a literal sense; one arm brushed
across her forehead, and her breath still came heavy.
"Call me Maximum." With power
like his, what other name could he take?
Max Planck awoke in a room still dark. He
checked the time -- not with any clock, but with talent and a thought. 5:27 am.
Late by his standards, but still well before the suns would rise.
He strained his ears for a sign of who, if
anyone, was with him in the Citadel. He heard clattering from the kitchen, and
a woman's voice. Fast-paced clattering and a voice with the short, sharp
cadence of a woman repeatedly swearing to herself. Planck smiled with
recognition. As he stepped out of bed, he visualised the kitchen, just as Rosen
had taught him. By the second step, he was there.
The Citadel's kitchen was just more than
big enough for two to comfortably use at the same time. The cabinets were dark
hardwood, while the surfaces were pale stone, veined with purple. Normally, it
was an ostentatious sight.
The greasy smoke and frantic Realmwalker
made it a bit less impressive.
Chekhov, at twenty-four, was one of the
closest Realmwalkers to Planck's own age. Auburn hair curled in ringlets about
her creamy-skinned, beautiful face. A red, masquerade mask accentuated her
amber eyes. She had the short, light figure of an acrobat, and the costume to
match: bright red spandex with bands of gold, forming a sleeveless top and long
pants. Even aside from baring the toned shape of her arms, the costume's tight
fit did little to hide her fit figure. That sight had been making Planck ache
for years, even for the long spans when he could only imagine it.
She didn't use the same curse twice in a
row, treating her frustration as an exercise in creativity. She grabbed a white
rod from the wall and thumbed a button. A stream of white foam shot out, ice
crystals forming at the edges; she sprayed it over the smoking pans on the
stove, choking off the fire.
"…fuck, damn, lawyer, trochee."
She sighed. When she saw Planck, she jumped for a second, but just folded her
arms over her (pert, rounded) chest. "Plaaanck. You're supposed to be in
bed, I'm making breakfast." She looked over her shoulder at the mess.
"…or trying to."
"Hey," Planck said, stepping
around her. "Chin up, okay?" He started cleaning up.
Chekhov huffed. "That's my line."
Planck grinned. "Don't worry. I've got
this." He used his talent. It gave him a sense of his body lightening, as
if he could float on air. Chekhov seemed to move in slow motion, though he knew
the truth was the other way around. Clean-up took only a few seconds. As he
slid back into real-time, he already had pancakes cooking. A new batch --
Chekhov's had been much too watery.
Though she grumbled, he got her to sit down
and wait. He soon served the pancakes, along with some blueberry sauce left
over from the last time he'd made them. She took a bite. After a brief delay,
her eyes widened with awe like she was watching a sunrise. "Mmph. Where
did you learn to make this?" She didn't seem to care that her mouth was
still full.
"Came up with it myself," he said.
"After some trial and error. But sometimes, I have nothing but time, so I
may as well use it."
"What do you mean?" Chekhov
frowned. "What about the other Realmwalkers?"
Planck blushed. "There are a lot of
us, yeah, but full members are a busy bunch. I mean, Schrodinger had to cut our
last shadowing session short by a few weeks, when tensions got too high between
Xax and the Sky-Borne Lands." He shrugged. "So for months at a time,
it can be just me and the library. I've learned to take care of things for
myself, you know?"
Chekhov stared, scooting her chair closer
to his. "And Heisenberg? He's your mentor, isn't he?"
Planck shook his head. "Even when he's
here, he's not all here."
"Well." She squeezed his arm, an
idle kind of affection. Reflex leaned him into it. "Chin up, okay? You
have me here now, so let's make the most of it. What do you want to do?"
"Train," he said. "But
first, some stories. You tell the best stories."
Chekhov grinned. "You're damn right I
do. Come on, let's talk outside."
They sat on the grass at the edge of the main
island. The six suns had risen, orbiting one another in a celestial dance. Their
six colours showed the full elemental spectrum: silver, gold, bronze, blue,
green, and red. Together, they lit the full surrounds. Behind them stood the
Citadel itself, a sprawling, Gothic-styled castle in grey stone and dark wood.
It stood on a grassy island floating in space, with bridges connecting to other
islands. One was a beach surrounding a pond; one was a series of gardens; one
held nothing but an elaborate hedge maze.
They faced outwards, towards the sky. Even
with the suns up, the stars were so close, Planck could see their swirling
coronae, their lights casting every colour of the stellar rainbow. Pillars of
light connected them, painting constellations across the sky. Planck liked the
Eagle, its wings spread wide. A few star-lines even detailed the edges of its
flight feathers.
Chekhov stood on her hands while she
talked. Stretching and balancing helped her focus, even while it threatened to
distract Planck. She chewed her tongue while she decided on the story.
"Scarlett the War Witch," she eventually said.
Planck perked up. That was his favourite.
Chekhov grinned at the look on his face.
"When we last left our heroine, her mother had been captured by the devious
sorceror-prince."
Planck nodded. "Sealed into a giant
crystal, leeching her magic for his own use. The prism pris--"
Chekhov poked him with a toe, cutting him
off. "Nope. I never agreed to that name." She stretched her legs out
straight again, waving them back and forth while she spoke. "The only way
to free her was to gather the keys of the stars. She would start with the key
of the forest, in the Azure Woods. She'd slipped away from the sorceror-prince's
wardens, and she made her way south through the Echo Pass."
The recap done, she launched into the story
proper. "The sun hung low behind her, setting in the north as she galloped
along the cobbled roads. It coloured the grey stone vivid orange, and threw her
shadow leagues ahead of her. The mountains rose on either side, as sheer and
straight as a sunbeam at high noon.
"Echo Pass lived up to its name. Her
horse's hooves echoed all around, sounding like an army travelled abreast with
her. The cacophony almost drowned out the sound of those who did follow her. But
just under the hoofbeats, she heard the twang of a bow.
"She drew Talon, the smaller of her
swords, and swatted the arrow out of the air. Now that she knew what to listen
for, she could hear them. Other horses came up behind her, spreading out to
come around her flanks. Huge, black chargers -- the only creatures that could
hold the men upon them, all garbed in ebon plate, with twisted antlers rising
from their brows. The sorceror-prince's demonic servitors. She dug in her heels
and pushed her horse harder, faster, keeping her eyes dead ahead.
"So she saw her next enemy when he
arrived. Marak himself, the leader and wost among them, rose up from her own
shadow. He made even his subordinates seem tiny. His armour was void-black,
sucking away the sunlight. Through the lines of his helmet, she could only see
the glow of his blue eyes, and the set of his thin lips. As he drew his wicked,
curved blade, it crackled with lightning, sky-fire tamed by Marak's own hand. He
seemed to look straight through her. The look sent chills down Scarlett's
spine."
That description reminded Planck of
Heisenberg. Which reminded him of something else. "Oh, dammit," he said.
Chekhov blinked. "What?"
Planck hopped to his feet. "Heisenberg.
He wanted me to come to his office this morning, for a talk." He checked
the time. "Oh good, I'm not late yet. Hold that thought?"
"Oh yeah, that regular... check-up
thing." Chekhov pushed into a cartwheel and landed lightly. "Well,
guess you'll have to wait until next time to find out how Scarlett gets out of
this one."
Planck started walking back towards the
Citadel while he sorted through mental images of the hallways. "The
horn," he said.
"What?" Chekhov was already
pouting.
"The horn she got for returning the
high priestess to the Minese temple," he said. "Just before she went
home and found her mother captive? The one that summons paladins straight to
her. She's going to use that."
"Spoilsport!" Chekhov called. It
was the last thing he heard from her before he teleported away, to stand outside
Heisenberg's office.
In the end, Planck had arrived early, and
Heisenberg wasn't in yet. He invited himself in and took one of the seats in
front of the desk.
Heisenberg's office was small in floor space,
but grand in height. The vaulted ceiling gave it a sense of airy spaciousness,
and the arched windows drank in the suns' light. His wooden desk looked small
and plain in comparison to the bookshelves rising high along the walls. Not just
books, but mementoes filled the available space. A landscape of an alien, green
sunset hung on one wall. Toy soldiers, chrome and robotic, stood in formation
across one shelf as if to guard his history books. He had a lot of those.
Something new sat on the desk proper. A silver
disc held a spike pointing upwards. Colourful spheres, like painted steel ball
bearings, floated all around it. They orbited, hovering with no visible supports.
While Planck waited, curiosity got the
better of him. He wiggled just a pinkie finger between the spike and the
spheres. He felt a pressure, like bringing one magnet close to another. For all
of a second. Then the spheres all stopped in their rotation, and one by one
dropped, clattering to the desk and floor. Each little tinkling bounce sounded
like a bell tolling doom. He caught them all within the next second, but the
damage had been done.
Of course, that was right when Heisenberg
arrived. If Chekhov were there, she'd have counted it down on her fingers. In a
bloom of golden sparkles, he appeared behind the desk.
Heisenberg was a tall man with a severe
presence beyond his physical reality. Rake-thin, he let his wizardly robes hang
from him. His hood stayed back, to show the high widow's-peaks in his dark
hair, and his pale, hawkish face. Spectacles stood before his eyes, which held
an ambient yellow glow, as if he never fully stopped using his talent. An odd
quality of his gaze made it feel like he looked not just at Planck, but the
wall behind him.
Planck thought for a split-second. He
already had the bearings in his hand. He could try to hide them... but no. That
wasn't how he did things. He sighed, and opened his hand to show the bearings.
"I went for a closer look, and that thing fell apart. I'm sorry."
The older Realmwalker stared in silence,
long enough to make Planck squirm.
Heisenberg considered Planck. The boy had
grown in the twelve years since Heisenberg had brought him to the Citadel.
Perhaps not as much as Planck himself would have liked -- though he had wiry
runner's muscle, he was short for fifteen. His caramel-toned skin, wide cheeks,
and narrow chin still carried more boyish cuteness than anything else. He'd
grown out the fringe of his black hair, and dyed two locks on his left: one
white, one yellow. They matched his eyes. Those eyes were more remarkable than
ever, that sparkling gold and silver that had first made him stood out.
He had a quiver in those eyes like he
wanted to turn and run, or slip away and hide. But he still kept that
determined set to his jaw, his chin lifted and his gaze set forwards.
Heisenberg picked up the silver spike and
its base. "The stringless mobile was a gift from the new queen of Mina, as
thanks for my help in securing the throne. She had it made by the finest Minese
artisans, based on what I'd told her of our sky."
Planck had stopped squirming. He just sat
stock still.
"This, however, is a copy." Heisenberg
waved his hand as he withdrew his power. The false mobile turned into golden
dust, which itself vanished into nothingness. Even the bearings disappeared from
Planck's hand. The junior relaxed and actually started to breathe again. Just a
copy.
And for Heisenberg, easy to replace. He
reached into his desk drawer to touch the original, still contained under a
glass dome. The branch was simple: leave the true version of his hand in that
drawer, while the other branch lifted the mobile up onto the desk. Timelines so
close together merged easily, and then he had a new copy sitting right there.
He lifted off the dome, and the bearing lifted off, orbiting the spike. "No
harm done."
"No harm done," Planck said. His
features calmed.
"Now." Heisenberg leaned forward,
over steepled fingers. "Onto business. You know what I've called you here
to discuss."
Planck's calm disappeared, replaced by
anxiety. "My lessons." He took a breath. "I made some good
progress with Schrodinger before he sent me back. Here, I'll show you. I can
use my own pocket space now." His right eye flashed silver, and a small,
brass telescope appeared in his hand. "And I can't do the mind's eye on my
own yet, but we made this scryglass together. When I use this, I can see for
miles, and straight through most materials. I'm still refining it so I can
control the depth more precisely."
Heisenberg held a hand near the telescope. Space
wasn't his department. He couldn't decipher the energy he felt from it, though
he could tell how carefully it had been layered. "Good," he said.
"And you can teleport without preserving momentum?"
Planck deflated. "No."
"Hm." Heisenberg drummed his
fingers. "Can you change your posture between teleport and arrival?"
"No," Planck repeated.
"I see," Heisenberg said.
"Disappointing."
Planck flinched. "But I can dilate
time in my sleep! Literally. I only need to sleep for about five objective
hours now, and I can make do on three."
"Einstein has been using that trick
for years," Heisenberg said. "Planck, with your talent, you could do
anything. You could discover techniques like nothing we've ever seen. But first,
you have to master what the other Realmwalkers have already done."
Planck somehow had the look of slumping in
his chair, even while keeping his back straight. He didn't even look at
Heisenberg. "Yes, sir."
Heisenberg rose from his chair, looking
towards the windows at the room's back. "You may go," he said. Other
worlds needed his attention.
"Wait," Planck said. A different
kind of anxiety painted over his face. "I was thinking, maybe this year.
You know, if it's okay. I know I need my training--"
"Say it," Heisenberg said.
Planck nodded, but still took another
second. "Maybe this year, I could go home? Just for a little while."
Heisenberg hesitated, but still ultimately
shook his head. "I'll consider it." It was almost synonymous with
'no'.
Judging by Planck's resigned look, he knew
it. "Yes, sir." He turned and left Heisenberg alone in his office.
Back to work.
Planck found Chekhov in the hall outside.
She fell into step beside him. "That sounded rough," she said.
"You heard, huh?" He could have
teleported away, but he kept walking with her. "Your favourite breed must
be beagles, you're so snoopy."
She smiled. A joke like that had to mean he
was bouncing back into his usual self. "Hell no, corgis all the way."
She tousled his hair. She had to reach higher than she'd used to. "You're
doing better than he made it sound, you know."
"Maybe," he said. "But he's
still the one who makes the decision. And he has a point. I need to get farther."
He faced straight forwards, focused.
"Alright," she said. "So
what do you want to do?"
"Train," he said. "Let's hit
the target range."
Darkness blanketed the hooded woman as she
made her way down the streets. A brick fence ringed the townhouse complex; an
easy vault, and nobody was any the wiser. Her destination, a plain townhouse,
didn't call attention to itself. Its brown brick made it blend in like a person
with brown hair and brown eyes. It didn't even sit at the back of the compound.
That would have been too obvious. It sat almost exactly in the middle. With
such an unassuming setup, there was little wonder it had taken her so long to
find it. Mister Wizard liked his camouflage.
She stepped up to the door. Any other night,
no matter her stealth, his protective wards would have woken him and she'd be
found out. But she'd chosen the perfect night, while the owners were gone.
Behind a shrubbery, she found a panel.
Rather than a numbered keypad, it showed a
series of runes. It could have been thousands of combinations, and any error
would have brought the full force of his wards. She tapped in the right one,
flawlessly, and the door came open. Using the rune pad instead of a lock, the
door opened into somewhere different from the plain townhouse: Mister Wizard's
true sanctum. The marble-floored foyer was bigger than the house and both
neighbours put together, the tall ceiling supported by bright pillars. Hallways
branched out, likes the spokes of a wheel or the strands of a spider's web.
Each was lined with oaken doors, carved with mythical figures. It wasn't even
an intentional security feature, but it would be easy for her to get lost in
there.
Seven o'clock, and then the fifth door on
the left. It was carved with a woman plucking a feather from a phoenix and a
hair from a unicorn. The door opened into an alchemical lab: racks of potion
ingredients lined the stone walls, while a long workbench stood in the centre.
Various pots sat by the fireplace at the back, as well as one big cauldron full
of bubbling, sky-blue fluid. Atop the fireplace's mantelpiece, a hyena-faced
gargoyle hunched over, crowded into the small space.
Once the unknown, hooded woman stepped into
the room, the gargoyle would notice her. She had no way around it, so she made
a way through it.
She launched herself into the room and
kicked off the workbench, aiming a flying kick. The impact broke off the
statue's jaw, its upper teeth left overhanging. Its eyes flared with bronze
light; her only warning before it swooped upon her. Still she dodged perfectly,
and its claws raked only air. She ducked and weaved back through the room, not
even letting it scratch her clothing. She led it on a merry chase, sometimes
diving under a workbench, sometimes hopping atop one to slip free. One last hop
put her atop a rack of unmarked bottles. Swift kicks threw two bottles to smash
on the gargoyle's chest. The contents mixed, sizzled, and the whole statue soon
crumbled into ash.
The fight had taken far longer than she'd have liked. She gathered some empty bottles, and set to taking away the cauldron's blue contents.